Not a Rose
by pedal
Summary: Vlad and Danielle in a father and daughter relationship drabble. NOT incest or whatnot. Oneshot


Written: November 2006

Disclaimer: Danny Phantom is the awesome creation of Butch Hartman, and one of Vlad's lines is so not mine XD;;; The Sara Lee joke belongs to the beta p I just made it awesome-r XD

Author's Note: Clever title! Think about it and I'll give you a cookie! And thank you Kitty for being such a tough-as-nails beta! 3

Dedication: To DagronRat, who colored a dumb picture of these two characters beautifully. You rock and I only wish I had your skillz.

Not a Rose

By Pedal

Wrapped up in him. Not in sex, not in love.

Well, okay, love. Not in love, just. Him. She called him _father_. She could love him as one, right?

A sigh. Not hers. Thank god he was still alive.

"Thank god you're still alive!" he cried when he regained consciousness to see her in his lap. Well.

Why was it so wonderful, so safe here? She wanted to hate him. There were far too many reasons to. Then the one thing that had the potential to make her hate him replayed in her head the second she heard his voice.

_"You exist to serve me!"_

Tears welled up. He thumbed them away and kissed her forehead, loose hair from his ponytail tickling her cheeks, and she knew it didn't matter anymore. "Daddy?"

"Can you ever forgive me, child?" He had never been so vulnerable in his life. It seemed that if someone were to slap him, he would be too stunned to retaliate.

Her head rested against his chest, and she heard his heart whirring, unstable. "You need to rest. ...You just got your butt kicked, didn't you?" The answer was his sudden lean forward to squeeze the life out of her.

"I love you more than anything I could ever hope for," he blurted quite gracefully.

"It was Danny wasn't it? Who kicked your—" her eager voice began.

"Danielle!"

"I love you too, jeez!"

Another hug. She was happy, so why did she feel like crying? "I was thinking if you even came back, you'd never want to call me father again."

"I could tell you were sorry. Besides... You'd be a different person if you weren't Daddy." And he slumped back against the wall, too exhausted from his fight to move beyond pulling her against him.

Past the blood that stained his skin under his suit and the smoke in his hair, his smell rivaled rich sandalwood and something she couldn't describe. Sleep, maybe? It didn't seem to fit. Especially since it seemed to her that he hardly ever slept.

"I had lost sight of it—of the courage and strength it takes to truly forgive someone," he said quietly, stroking her hair.

Her answer was almost silent, her lips in a pout. "You're hurt, come on." The safety she felt woven into their indefinite bond made so little sense. If she cared, she might have questioned it. But she didn't. Maybe she could have doubted it like she had before. It didn't really seem fair anymore, with his bruised and bloodied body propped up carefully under her. "Come on!"

"Butternuts."

"Nobody doesn't like them."

"What?"

"You swear in Sara Lee, Dad."

"Oh, hush," he growled through a smile that he was doing a terrible job holding back.

Transforming with a sudden burst of vigor, he lifted her and drifted upwards. They fazed through the floors and walls of the castle until he lost velocity. After becoming tangible, the pair tumbled to the floor. "Are you all right?"

Just as he struggled to stand, to check if she had any fresh wounds, she donned her white hair in a flash. "I'm fine. Hurry, before I start melting or something," she announced bravely, pulling his arm around her shoulders. The fear in her voice was buried somewhere beneath that safe feeling he exuded; if anything happened, he was there.

"Dammit, child," he grumbled, complying only because of the threat. Eventually they arrived in the master bedroom, where she released him as gently as she could onto his bed.

Whining, she retorted with a squeaky, "Cheater!"

With diminished strength, he made himself somewhat comfortable. She removed his shoes as he spoke, "What is it now?"

"That wasn't a food..." she trailed off. The room's direction had suddenly shifted from stationary to counter-clockwise. "I'm kind of dizzy..."

Adrenaline pulled him to a sit on the giant bed, and he brought her into his lap once again. Shadows bit at the corners of her vision. Mist pooled between their shoulders. Ghost sense. But they were used to that. It was the last thing she felt as she dropped off into unconsciousness.

She had missed the feeling of his beard on her lips, against her cheek. At least she knew this the second their faces brushed when he crushed her in the initial hug.

The night before had been spent in Amity with her male counterpart. Hiding her in the Emergency Op Center had been relatively easy, but when she had gotten ready for her flight to Wisconsin, her chest tightened. Her throat burned simply because of the fuzz against her cheek when Danny kissed it goodbye. At that point, she had no idea why it hurt so much.

Of course she had to tell him why when she vaulted forward into his arms. "Why would you go back?" he had cried, visibly worried to no end as she prepared for the trip home.

"You need to shave," she had answered, wiping her eyes before any tears could stand a chance. After a beat, they broke into laughter at the fact that he looked happy over hearing the smug remark. It worked; he forgot to be concerned any longer.

The scratch of her father's face. The simple things were what she missed, she had realized. Things like the groan she got every time she gave her father a goodnight peck on the lips.

"Ack! What is that!?"

"Cherry-flavored."

"I condemn all things lip gloss to hell."

Speaking of, that cold mist was probably turning her lips blue. This was what woke her. The cold that made her happy made as little sense as the safety he offered. When the mist fell from her lips, he was most likely there, and when he was there, she felt safe. She didn't want it to make sense; she knew she might get scared if she thought about what Danny said too much.

She looked up at her father. He had fallen into a rare sleep, and his face was at an even rarer peace. His lips were parted and wisps of white and silver were loose from his ponytail. She removed his neck tie in case it was too tight and swept back the hair from his face.

Then she knew why she could so easily trust him and find herself wrapped up in him while they took care of each other. "Goodnight, Daddy," she told his sleeping face. Fathers don't hurt their daughters. Fathers take care of them and love them. And are loved.

They are someone to make fun of for cursing in factory-processed baked goods.


End file.
